Chapter 16 #2
He came to the head of the bed. “Hardly,” Mr Darcy said gently. “I do not think foolishness had anything to do with it. Are you well, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, perfectly,” she said hurriedly. “Except for being rather embarrassed, that is. How cowardly you must think me!”
Mr Darcy looked surprised. With the same easy strength and competence he had shown in carrying her, he helped her sit up and propped several pillows behind her back.
Kneeling at her bedside, he reached for her hand.
To Elizabeth’s mingled astonishment and pleasure, he pressed it to his heart.
“No, certainly not. But I believe I owe you an apology. I did not realise how deep your fear went.”
“Surely it is I who owe you an apology,” Elizabeth protested. “You cannot have wished for your wife to make such a display, and over such a little thing. I am sorry I shamed you.”
Mr Darcy shook his head. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, sending a shock of confusing emotions through her.
“No, Elizabeth. Far from it. I am only glad you are awake. I was so worried. Indeed, perhaps I was too hasty in deciding not to call a physician. Are you certain that you are well? No bad after-effects?”
“Yes, quite well,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. To her dismay, she could not seem to stop tears from welling up in her eyes. “There is nothing the matter with me. I can try again any time you like.”
“You need not,” he said gently. “Why did you not tell me you did not want to learn to ride? I would not have forced you.” He met her gaze. “This is my fault.”
“No, it is not.” Out of instinct, she cupped his face, her fingers brushing against his clean-shaven jawline. He looked surprised, though not displeased. All the same, she quickly remembered herself and pulled away. “I wanted to face my fears — to become a wife you could be proud of.”
His eyes clouded with silent reproof, though whether aimed at her or himself, she could not say. He rose from the ground and waved a hand toward the edge of the bed. “May I?”
She slid over to make room for him, her heart pounding in her chest. He sat beside her and took her hand again.
“Elizabeth, you do not need to prove yourself to me. I already have a great deal of regard for you. Whether you learn to ride — or, indeed, whether you never make the attempt again — will have no effect on that.”
Elizabeth could not seem to think of a fitting answer. Her throat had gone dry with his nearness. She could not think clearly when he looked at her like that.
But whatever her own confusing feelings, this was a chance that must not be wasted. “May I ask you something, Mr Darcy?”
He nodded. “Anything,” he urged her.
Elizabeth licked her lips and tried to arrange the words as gently as she could. “What happened between you and your sister?”
He looked up at her sharply. “I suppose it was inevitable that you would hear of that.”
“I have had pieces of the story, from Reynolds and from Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said softly. “But I should very much like to hear it from you.”
For a moment, she was afraid he would refuse her.
At last, Mr Darcy looked up and sighed. “My sister was very dear to me all through our childhood, even though I was many years her senior. This summer, she ran away and eloped with a man by the name of George Wickham — almost the last man on earth I would have permitted to court her. He was the son of my father’s steward and, to make a long story very short, a favoured protégé of my father.
I fear he only convinced her to marry him so he could get his hands on her fortune,” he sighed heavily, refusing to look her in the eye.
“I have not spoken to her since. No letters. No visits. Indeed, I have barely spoken of her. As you know.”
He turned tortured eyes on her. Elizabeth took his hand and pressed it, trying to impart courage. “I am very sorry. It is clear it has been a great weight on your heart.”
Mr Darcy looked at her with surprise, perhaps a little touched with relief. “That is it exactly. It has been as though I have been pressed beneath a great stone ever since it happened. I do not know how you could have known.”
She shook her head. “I did not know. I only guessed.”
“Thank you,” he said, very softly. “It helps. To have it said aloud.”
“I am glad.” Elizabeth hesitated, knowing what she must say next, but feeling that she could hardly bear to make the attempt. “There is one more thing that I feel sure would help, but I am not sure it is my place to suggest it.”
“Tell me, please,” he said. “Never hesitate to speak your mind with me, Elizabeth.”
She sighed, knowing she could not soften the blow that would surely accompany her words. “I do not think you will welcome the idea, and yet I truly believe it to be the best step forward. May I suggest that we invite the Wickhams to Pemberley?”
Mr Darcy sat back, then stood, pacing away from the bed. When he turned, there was a crackle of fire in his eyes. “Invite them to Pemberley? Both of them?” he asked, obviously horrified by the idea. It was what she had feared, and yet Elizabeth knew she must be brave.
She threw her legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up.
Mr Darcy came to her aid immediately, steadying her with a hand under her elbow.
Finding her balance at last, Elizabeth turned her face up to his.
“I do not suggest this to inflict more pain. But I can see that it has troubled you all the time I have known you. Might it not be time to make amends, to allow your sister and Mr Wickham to make amends? You cannot change what was done. However, she is still your sister.”
Mr Darcy began pacing, though seeming reluctant to go too far from her, lest her weakness return. His attentiveness was endearing, even if he was angry with her for even suggesting that he allow the man who had stolen away his sister into the house.
She forced herself to remain silent as he deliberated.
Elizabeth could imagine the struggle that must be raging inside her husband.
Rage at the man who had stolen away a most beloved sister, concern for that sister mixed with a tormenting blend of anger for her choices and guilt for his own failure to protect her.
Mr Darcy would feel all these, she had not a doubt.
When he did finally speak again, his voice was tight with emotion. “Are you suggesting that I will find no peace until I at least try to make amends with Georgiana?” he asked.
That he sought her opinion even now was a considerable compliment. “I am. I know it will be difficult in many ways, perhaps in ways that neither of us can foresee.” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his bicep. “I will be here to help you through it, if you will allow me to.”
Mr Darcy looked down at her hand, then back at her. He turned so they were facing each other, face-to-face, heart-to-heart. His other arm wound around her waist, and he pulled her close. “If you will promise to be by my side, I think I could weather anything,” he whispered.
Elizabeth’s eyes slid shut of their own volition. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, his lips so close to hers. Was this what it felt like to be in love? This roiling, wonderful, stormy sensation billowing through her very being?
“Elizabeth,” he whispered tenderly.
She was too stricken to move, afraid that it would break the spell. Elizabeth raised her chin, every part of her leaning toward him — heart and soul. She had never known how much she could want someone until now.
Suddenly, the spell between them was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the corridor. Elizabeth’s eyes flew open when she recognised Lady Catherine’s voice; the dowager was berating a footman for not informing her at once that Mrs Darcy had fainted.
Quickly, they stepped away from each other.
Elizabeth sat down on the edge of the bed, afraid that she would fall over, not from dizziness or fainting, but from another kind of strain entirely.
The intoxicating tension between them faded slowly as they stared at one another.
Mr Darcy’s eyes were filled with such longing, no doubt mirrored in her own gaze.
As Lady Catherine burst into the room, Elizabeth forced her eyes to focus on her riding boots, one of which had been knocked over on its side.
“Have I heard rightly that Mrs Darcy has fainted?” Lady Catherine exclaimed with consternation. She wagged a finger at Mr Darcy as she brushed past him to focus on Elizabeth. “It would seem I have a great deal more to teach your wife before she is worthy to be called the Mistress of Pemberley.”
Elizabeth forced herself to look back at her husband. But he had already turned and started toward the door. “Stay with her, Aunt Catherine. She has had a trying morning,” he said. Mr Darcy turned and gave her a long look, his expression unreadable, before he left the room.
Lady Catherine ordered a chair to be brought to the bedside and promptly sat down. “It was very foolish of you to faint, Elizabeth, especially while seated atop a horse.”
Elizabeth barely heard the lecture that Lady Catherine gave her, though it went on for a considerable period. All she could think of was her husband’s lips nearly touching hers.
And to her mingled shame and excitement, she very much wished that Lady Catherine had not interrupted them.